Page 39 of Deadly Rival

Don’t moan. Don’t moan.

I bite my lip, but Sebastian sits up anyway, pure triumph on his face. He twists his watch to face me. “Two minutes and fifteen seconds.”

I stare at the time. The numbers are right, but I can’t believe it. Surely not. It can’t be right. Can it?

The aftershocks of my climax still pulse as Sebastian slides his fingers over my soaked entrance. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fuck you? Seems like you’re pretty desperate for it.”

I hate him. I hate himso much.

I force out, “No. Fuck off.”

“You weren’t saying that a moment ago.”

It’s too much. He’s too self-satisfied, his words too cutting. It’s stupid and childish, but I whip my hand up and slap him right across his smug face.

I expect he’ll stop me, but my hand connects with a crack so satisfying it almost drowns out the terror that comes next, boiling through my veins. What will he do now?

He jerks back, eyes wide, and presses a hand to the red mark on his cheek. I don’t breathe, don’t blink, waiting for him to strike back.

Then he laughs. It’s real and unaffected and fills the room. I can only stare as he gets himself together, gaze finally settling back onto me. “My God. Wait till Jacob hears about this. I’ll never live it down.”

I’m frozen, trapped between relief he’s not retaliating and offense that he finds it so funny. My voice rings sharp as I say, “Who the hell is Jacob?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He smiles down at me and brushes a strand of hair from my face. The heat from his finger remains, a track across my skin. “I didn’t think you had it in you. You’ve been such a good, compliant little thing. I’m happy you’ve got a bit of fight.”

Every word is calculated to enrage me. Sugary, patronizing, and cutting far too close to the bone. I try for another slap, but he curls his hand around my wrist. He might be dressed in elegant clothes and talk with a cultured accent, but his fingers are iron bars, and he forces my hand down to the bed with no effort at all. “Time for your medicine.”

I can’t fight him. I know what comes next, and my skin flushes hot. I shake my head. “Don’t. Please.”

“A game is a game, and you lost. You had your fun. Don’t try to deny me mine.”

Quicker than I believed he could move, he shifts, straddling my hips. His weight presses me down, and I try to struggle, but he’s an immovable object. Panic surges, and I flail my free hand up, scratching at his face.

He plucks it from the air, too, and presses both to the bed. I can’t move. I can’t do anything but stare up into his face, where all traces of amusement are long gone. He studies me, and there’s a feral light in his eyes, a cruel twist to his lips that quells my urge to keep struggling.

“Behave, Ophelia. If you do, I’ll let you clean up afterward. Keep this nonsense up, and I’ll tie you to the bed and leave you in the mess until I feel like letting you go.”

Ugh. It’s an unbearable image, and it rips the last of the fight from my muscles. I go limp, staring up at him with all the hate I can muster. He shakes his head. “Wow. If looks could kill, I’d be…”

He lets go of my wrist and mimes slicing a blade across his neck.

Oh, good. Back to the joker.

“Get it over with, then.” I try for disdain, but it comes out shaky.

“Since you asked with such beautiful manners.” He frees my other wrist and pauses, waiting to see if I’ll strike. I want to—oh, I want to so much—but it’s useless, so I force my arms to lie limp against the covers.

He undoes his belt buckle.

I don’t want to look at what he's doing down there. It makes it too real, so I focus on his face. His perfect hair got mussed up somewhere along the way, and it softens his face. His lips part, and his breathing grows rough.

Don’t look down.

My eyes flick there anyway. His hand is wrapped around his cock, and he works himself like his life depends on it. My God. If the girls at school knew he was hiding that monster, they wouldn’t have made fun of his scruffy jeans.

I drag my gaze to his face. With great effort, he grinds out, “I’ve been hard for hours. Open those beautiful lips.”

I squeak as his free hand grabs my breast. His fingers dig in, and he lets out a rough groan. A tiny, sick part of me rears up. It’s the sort of noise I fantasized about as I lay alone, bringing myself to orgasm after dull, unsatisfying orgasm. It’s raw, and for one blissful second, I forget where I am and who I’m with.

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